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Cruel Luck
When I was a kid, I was pretty religious. I always wanted to do the right thing and I always second guessed myself on whether or not I should do something that seemed even the slightest bit wrong. Because I never wanted to upset God. As I got older, sometime around the age of fourteen, I started to find flaws in the whole concept of "God." I mean, think about it for a second. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense. Christians always degrade scientists for, "The Big Bang Theory." They say things like, "Oh, you're wrong," or, "How could it just have happened with nothing to have caused it?" Well, "The Big Bang Theory" makes just about as much sense as, "God" does. Where did He exactly come from? You really expect me to believe that there was a spirit that comes from nothing that has been around forever? Sorry. Whenever I talk about things like that I always get carried away by it. But I guess you could say that for a while I was agnostic. I didn't deny the existence of God, but I had my doubts. Ten years ago, however, that changed. I was sixteen when it happened. It was November 12th and it was around 7:30 p.m. I lived with my mother who had been divorced twice. The first time with my father, and the second time with my stepfather. Anyways, I lived with her and my two half-brothers. I was kind of depressed because I hadn't seen my real father in years. Whereas, my half-brothers got to see their dad all the time. I do understand though. My father was so upset that my mother was getting remarried that he tried to hunt her down. He killed four people including two police officers trying to get to her. He's in the mental institution that's about 200 miles away from me. Anyways, getting back to the point of this. It was November 12th at around 7:30 p.m. I was in my room re-reading "Catching Fire", as the movie was coming out about a week after. I'd gotten kind of thirsty so I was heading upstairs to get something to drink. I was on my way when I realized, "Oh. I have a can of soda in my room." I went back, opened up the Mountain Dew can, and went back to reading. I finished the book around thirty minutes later and I'd gotten hungry. I was heading upstairs when I heard some heavy footsteps. Usually, that's the sound I heard whenever my mother just got done arguing with one of my brothers. She wouldn't be in the best mood after that would happen. So I decided not to bother her. I could wait to eat. I wasn't terribly hungry. I went back into my room and I wanted to watch the first "Hunger Games" movie. I exited my room to go find the DVD of it. I thought I left it in the downstairs living room. I had assumed it was in the cabinet that you had to crouch down to get to. Just then, I heard what I thought was my mother coming downstairs. Normal. It was laundry night. I didn't find the DVD, though. I just sat there in silence, trying to figure out where it could be. I started going back to my room when I heard my mother go back upstairs. I slapped myself in the forehead as I realized that the DVD was in my room. I put it in and started watching it. It was at the main menu and I decided to get something to eat. I was going upstairs to make myself a pizza. Just as I got upstairs, the front door shut. I assumed it was my mother. She was probably running out for a late-night errand. I threw the pizza in the oven and waited for ten minutes. The timer went off and I grabbed it out, when I noticed a foul stench in the air. I didn't know what it was or where it was coming from. I dismissed it, though, and took the pizza downstairs to my room. I was watching the movie and getting really into it. I smiled to myself a lot during it. At the time I had the biggest crush on Jennifer Lawrence. I always joked with my friends that I would marry her one day. I heard footsteps upstairs again. "Mom's home," I thought to myself. I started getting really confused, though. I heard the footsteps upstairs multiply by the minute. I heard multiple voices that were unfamiliar to me. I paused the movie and went upstairs. "Jesus Christ," I heard one of the voices say. "Who would do this?" I got upstairs to find about a dozen police officers in my house. One of them noticed me. "Stop," he said. "Don't move!" I stopped. "What's going on?" I said. "Where's my mom and my brothers?" The officer looked into my brothers' rooms. The police were blocking the doorways to both my mom's and my both of my brothers' rooms. He sighed and shook his head. "Come here, son," he said. We went outside the house. "What's going on," I said frantically. "Is my family okay?" The officer took a long time to respond. "What's your name," he said. "Chris Sherman," I replied. "Do you know that man in the back of that squad car?" He pointed to a cop car in the driveway. It took me a few seconds to realize it was my father. His clothes were blood-stained, and he looked almost unrecognizable. "No," I said in a whimper, tears in my eyes. I knew that the blood on my father's clothes was that of my mom's and my brothers'. I cried in the officers arms. "I'm sorry, son," the officer said. There was a shakiness in his voice as well. I looked back at my father and he was smiling at me. It was almost a look of, "I'll get you next time." I was confused for a moment. How did he not notice me? I was in my room the whole time. And that's when it dawned on me. As I was looking for the DVD, crouched down, he must've missed me. I barely missed him when I went upstairs to make the pizza. I got upstairs right as he walked out of the house. I later found out that a witness saw my father exit the house, an ax in hand. He thought I wasn't home, so he started walking to my cousin's house, who doesn't live that far from me. Thankfully, the officer stopped him right before he got to the house. I was at the funeral a week later. I hate funerals so fucking much. People crying hysterically, preachers giving bogus speeches on how we didn't come here to mourn the deaths, but to celebrate the lives of these people. The preacher then looked at me and said, "It is by the grace of God that this boy survived it all." And it happened. I started laughing. I actually found it so funny that he would even say that. I got up and walked out of the church, chuckling to myself as I did. God? There is no God. I just got lucky. Category:Mental Illness Category:Dismemberment